Courting Her Highness (63 page)

“Do you think I’ll be dismissed like some frightened chambermaid caught stealing the tea!”

Caught stealing! What unfortunate phrases she used! When he looked at Sarah, her face distorted by rage, when he listened to her shrill voice denouncing everyone, refusing to see any point of view but her own, he wondered.… He despised himself for this, but he even wavered.

So many pictures could come unbidden to the mind. He thought of himself—without Sarah—being taken into the new ministry. He had been a Tory at heart—until Sarah had given her allegiance to the Whigs and determined he should do the same. He saw himself continuing the war, finding fresh triumphs … without Sarah.

But there she stood before him—his Sarah, for whom he had braved his parents’ wrath in the first place in order to marry her, Sarah who had had no fortune any more than he had, when of course an ambitious man should have made a rich marriage.

How could he live without Sarah? Yet it was said that his love could never have endured if he had been forced to live with her night and day. It was the long separations which had saved their marriage. It might be so, but he knew he could never be without her.

She was bold and rash; she was crashing them all to disaster, but she was still his beloved Sarah.

“You are smiling.
I
see nothing to smile about.”

“I was thinking of all the years we have been together.”

“A fine time to think of that!”

“No, a good time, Sarah.” He took her hands and looked into her face. “You are still beautiful,” he said. “Our girls are lovely, but they can’t compare with you.”

“What is it, Marl?” she asked tenderly.

“If we are forced to live in obscurity … even in exile … I was thinking that at least we should be together.”

Her lips quivered and she threw herself into his arms.

“Dear Marl,” she said. “Dearest Marl!”

He had known all along that there was no problem. They were together for the rest of their lives.

He put her from him and said: “You will have to give up the keys.”

The tender mood had passed. “You are too easily defeated, Marl. Leave this to me. I haven’t finished with my fat friend yet … so I shan’t allow her to finish with me.”

“Sarah, I tell you this is the end. She will not have you back.”

“I shall write to her,” said Sarah stubbornly.

“She’ll read no letters from you.”

“She will if you take it to her.”

“Sarah, don’t you know when you’re beaten?”

“No, my brave general, I do not agree that I am beaten.”

“Sarah …”

But she put her arms about him and laughed. She would have her way as she always had, and there was one thing he knew, which was that it was better to suffer defeat with Sarah than to bask in success without her.

Sarah shut herself into
her room and wrote to the Queen. I wouldn’t do this, she thought, but for Marl. This is breaking him. He’ll be ill if we go on like this.

Her pen had always been as violent as her tongue, but now she tried to use it to advantage. She remembered the cosy chats when Prince George had been alive and she and Anne had sat together like two goodies discussing their men. Mr. Morley and Mr. Freeman. What intimacy there had been in those days! And Anne had been fond of Mr. Freeman. He had charmed her as he charmed everyone. Marl was a charming man.

Now she must soften the Queen; she must remind her of those days. Anne had always been sentimental and if she could touch that sentiment now who knows she might yet retain the keys of office. And she must
retain them, for to lose them would mean to be cut off from Court, cut off from all hope of regaining power.

She wrote to the Queen in an unusually humble style and the theme of her letter was her concern for the Duke. She believed she wrote, that if he must continue in this state of anxiety, he would not live six months. If Anne would allow her to remain her servant she would, she promised, never do or say anything disagreeable to her.

There was submission. She was sure of success.

Having written the letter she went to the Duke who was lying on his couch and coming on him unawares she felt a twinge of anxiety. Perhaps she had not exaggerated in her letter to the Queen.

“Dearest Marl,” she said, “you are not well.”

He rose and immediately looked more like his old self. “I’ll be well enough when this unpleasantness has passed away.”

“I have the letter here. Take it to the Queen and
insist
that she read it.”

“I am in no position to command the Queen.”

“Oh come, you know what I mean. Beg prettily as you so well know how to do, and she will do as you ask.”

“Sarah, she is firmly determined …”

“I know her better than you. She will read that letter and be touched. Once I get back to her, I’ll see that I stay there.”

“I would rather not.…”

“Now, my brave commander. We shall win yet.”

She was irresistible. He had to obey her. Godolphin had felt the same, even Sunderland.

“We have to do this,” she said earnestly. “It would have been different if the Elector had listened to our plans.”

The Duke shook his head. “He believes that he will get the crown handed to him in a few years’ time so he sees no reason to fight for it now.”

“He should not be so sure. There are Jacobites and to spare in this country. They’ll have the Pretender back … and then Master Hanover will wish that he had paid a little attention to his friends.”

“He is not prepared to risk war for the English crown, Sarah. I can’t say that I blame him.”

“It seems I am beset by lily-livered cowards,” cried Sarah fiercely. “Well, there’s nothing to do but try to get back with Anne. She’ll read that
letter, Marl; and when she does she’ll remember our friendship. She won’t have the heart to dismiss me then.”

Marlborough was uncertain of that, but nevertheless he obeyed Sarah and presented himself at the palace to ask for an audience.

This was granted, but when he produced Sarah’s letter the Queen said that she did not wish to read any communication from the Duchess.

“I beg of Your Majesty to read this letter,” said the Duke, kneeling and looking entreatingly up at her. Anne shook her head sadly. He was so handsome, and he at least had always been so modest, and in the old days she had thought Mr. Freeman to be one of the most charming men she had ever met. Mr. Morley had a high opinion of him too. What happy days they had been! But even then of course
Mrs
. Freeman had been overbearing; she had dictated the way they should go. Sometimes when she felt weakened by the gout and dropsy Anne would wake in the night from dreams about her father; she would imagine he upbraided her for her part in his downfall and in such dreams Sarah was always beside her, urging her on.

No, she did not want to think of the past; she would not read Sarah’s letter.

“Madam,” said the Duke, “if you will retain the Duchess until such a time as you will have no need of my services, this will save her much pain. I hope that the war will be over within the next year and then we could both retire together.”

“I cannot change my resolution,” said Anne firmly.

“The Duchess deeply regrets any uneasiness she caused Your Majesty and longs for a chance to revive that love you once had for her. She has sworn that if you will give her another chance she will serve you in all humility and endeavour to make up for any pain she may have caused you.”

Anne was silent.

“I beg you read the letter,” he implored.

She did so, but when she had finished it, she was silent.

“Your Majesty is moved to some tenderness I see. I know that you will wish to put an end to the anguish which the Duchess now suffers.”

“I cannot change my resolution,” repeated Anne.

The Duke sighed, exerting all his charm in his endeavours to move her, but she only said: “The keys must be returned to me within three days.”

“Within three days, Your Majesty. I pray you give the Duchess ten days that the affair may be settled more discreetly.”

“No,” said the Queen, “there has been too much delay. The keys must be returned to me within two days.”

“Two days … but Your Majesty said three.”

“Two days,” repeated Anne firmly. “I cannot alter my resolution.”

There was nothing to be done but return to Sarah to tell her of his failure.

Marlborough faced his
wife.

“Well?” she demanded, although his expression betrayed how the interview had gone and there was no need to ask.

“No use,” he said.

“She read my letter?”

“Yes, and remained adamant.”

“You should have talked to her.”

“I did.”

“Crawling at her feet, I doubt not.”

“Behaving in a manner best calculated to soften her, and at least I induced her to read the letter which she refused to do at first.”

“You allow her to treat you like a servant!”

“We are her servants.”

“Bah! That fat fool! If I could get back I would show her that I will not take such treatment from her.”

“That is precisely what you have done and why we are in this position now.”

“So I am to blame?”

“Can you suggest who else?”

“Yes, that disagreeable woman … with her filthy little dogs, her doting chambermaid, cards, her chocolates and her drivelling conversation. I cannot tell you what I endured from her. I was nearly driven mad by her inanities. And now … look at the way I am treated!”

“Sarah, for God’s sake be calm. You have to give up the keys.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If you had talked to her.…”

“She could not be talked to. Her mind was made up. She kept repeating that she could not change her resolution.”

“The old parrot!”

“Sarah. Accept this. You have to give up the keys. She refuses to discuss any further business with me until those keys are in her hands. Unless you give them back I will have no position either.”

Sarah tore the keys from her waist, where she always wore them. Two golden keys, symbols of those coveted posts: Groom of the Stole and Mistress of the Privy Purse. She had held those offices for a long time and now they were lost.

She could have burst into tears.

To relieve her feelings she threw the keys at her husband and they struck his head before falling to the floor.

He picked them up quickly before Sarah could change her mind; and he lost no time in delivering them to the Queen.

Anne looked at
the two golden keys—the symbol of release. Never would she allow herself to become the slave of another as she had with Sarah Churchill. Not even dearest Masham, although she knew full well that Abigail would never presume to rule her.

She was devoted to Masham more than to any other living person, but she was also fond of the Duchess of Somerset. There was a similarity between them; they both had the same colour hair. Some might call it carroty, but Anne found it delightful. She had also been fond of Lady Somerset ever since she had lent her Syon House when she had had nowhere to go during one of her quarrels with her brother-in-law William of Orange; she recalled even now how William had tried to prevent Lady Somerset’s lending her the house and how both the Duke and his wife had insisted that she have it. They had been true friends then—and she would never forget it.